


The Future Recedes

by Silver_Queen_DoS



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe — Canon Divergence, Eden Prime Mission, Gen, Nihlus Lives, Time Travel, Time Travelling Shepard, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 09:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20468537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_Queen_DoS/pseuds/Silver_Queen_DoS
Summary: Commander Shepard isn’t quite what Nihlus expected — but she does seem to be handling the surprises of their mission to Eden Prime very well.





	The Future Recedes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Charientist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charientist/gifts).

_Unfortunately, the clock is ticking, the hours are going by. The past increases, the future recedes. Possibilities decreasing, regrets mounting._

_― Haruki Murakami, Dance Dance Dance_

. 

* * *

. 

The _SSV Normandy_ isn’t a bad ship, Nihlus decides as he paces his way through it. Strange with its Turian design adapted to Human dimensions but it lives up to the promised cutting edge specifications. The oversize mass effect core and stealth field could be an outstanding strategic advantage… or could be too temperamental for effective use. 

Only time and experience will tell. 

The all-human crew don’t seem overtly hostile to him, but they are _disconcerted_ to have a Turian Spectre on board. Not without reason; the mission to Eden Prime is classified and no crew likes to fly blind. Easy to connect the dots and blame him, though the order for secrecy comes from their own upper hierarchy. 

Still, a lack of hostility is enough to start with. Nihlus is no expert on xeno-relations, but he has worked with the Alliance before. The human military structure is not so different from the Hierarchy, and within it the soldiers value much the same things. A competent commander, for their contributions to be noted and valued, for there to be no unnecessary disorder to their daily routines. 

“1500K is good,” he says to the pilot, as they exit the Arcturus Prime Relay with one of the cleanest FTL jumps he’s ever witnessed. And on a maiden voyage, no less, when the ship is unknown and untested. “Your captain will be pleased.” 

He makes his way for the command deck, where he hopes to speak with Commander Shepard before the mission is underway. Even though evaluating Shepard is a large part of why he is even here, the Commander had barely had time to make it through decontamination before the ship had departed, let alone see to any of the duties of a 2IC. Likely she has only just finished her previous deployment, though the Alliance has said nothing on the topic. 

No matter; there will be time to evaluate Shepard as they go. Patience is a virtue that Nihlus has acquired over the years, if more slowly than his mentor would have liked. 

He does not see Commander Shepard until Captain Anderson has arrived, so there is no chance to have any kind of conversation. He takes the time to watch her as their true mission is unveiled, as the possibility of her promotion to Spectre is explained, but her expression remains calm to his eyes. Perhaps another human could tell more, but she appears equanimous, asking relevant tactical questions about the situation and environment and the harmonics of her voice betray no agitation. 

And then they’re interrupted by the distress call. A transmission from Alliance marines, that is scrambled and nearly unwatchable. 

An attack on Eden Prime. An attack, most likely, on the Prothean Beacon they have been sent to retrieve. 

_Unfortunate._

“Rewind,” Shepard says, studying the transmission with a detached eye. Her stance is straight, her hands clasped behind her back; No visible alarm, just alertness. The transmission skips back a few frames, pausing on an immense spaceship rising above the planet, a sequence of the call too short to have stood out when it was played at full speed. “That’s like no ship I’ve ever seen before, captain. Permission to investigate?” 

Anderson nods. “Keep it quiet,” he instructs. “We’ll assemble a strike team and get down there fast. We need to secure the beacon before anyone else gets to it. You, Kaidan, Jenkins.” 

Shepard doesn’t square off but there is a particular _sense_ to a soldier about to disagree with a commanding officer. “An aerial drop off in the mako will be faster and safer,” she points out. “We’ll be going in hot with little idea of what we’ll be encountering. How many marines were on Eden Prime?” 

“The 212 and the 232,” Anderson answers, but the only fact that really matters is _more than three_. “The terrain isn’t exactly mako friendly,” he warns, likely the reason they’d chosen not to use that tactic in the first place, “but I’ll defer to your judgement on field decisions.” 

Shepard nods briskly, with no surprise or undue pleasure over having got her way. Used to being in charge, then, or having permissive commanding officers. What will her reaction be to the opposite? 

“I’ll have Pressly and Joker plot a drop point,” she says. “And get the team assembled ASAP.” 

“Good,” Anderson says. “This mission just got a lot more interesting.” 

Shepard pivots neatly on her heel and exits the command room, heading back towards the cockpit. After a second of thought, Nihlus follows, nodding to the captain and taking his leave. There is little further for him to contribute here, regardless. 

“Spectre.” 

“As you were,” he says, “I wish to speak with you once you are done with your preparations. I will not interrupt.” 

She studies him for a second longer then nods sharply and goes on her way, not quite ignoring him but taking him at his word that he does not require her attention. No one _likes_ having a superior officer hovering over their shoulder and judging them, but there is no point in pretending this is not an evaluation. He had said as much already. 

Despite her short time on the ship, Shepard easily picks out the crew members Anderson had assigned for this mission and sends them to gear up. She gives the navigator precise orders for calculating a drop point for the mako — data he has prepared already as an alternate option to their initial plan. Nihlus approves of the crew’s thoroughness and preparation. 

The second marine being sent is the co-pilot, which leaves the upper deck clear but for the pilot himself. 

“What’s our approach?” Commander Shepard asks, coming up close to the pilot’s chair. 

“Clear and steady, Commander. Cloaking system is go and golden.” 

“Good,” Shepard says. Then; “the transmission from Eden Prime indicated an assault. Approach with caution. We’ll drop the mako as close to the beacon as possible but we don’t want to get our new ship shot at.” 

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” the pilot says, which is very much not to military standard. “Anything else?” 

“Yeah, how much attention can you spare?” 

The pilot shrugs. “Until we get planetside she’s pretty much flying herself.” He pats the console. 

The Commander uses her omnitool to upload the transmission to the pilot’s station, the clip at the same point to show off the unusual space craft. “You’re certified on multiple ship types, right? Ever seen anything like that?” 

“Everything the Alliance classes as a ship, yeah,” the pilot says, which is an immense claim. But he studies the image with seriousness. “Looks, I don’t know, a little like a Geth ship. The legs, you know?” 

“Geth,” Shepard repeats, blandly. 

“You asked,” the pilot shoots back, vocal harmonics practically _bristling_. “Look. Upright thrust like that? No horizontal movement? We gave that up when we stopped shooting rockets into space. It takes too much fuel, causes too many G’s. You put anything organic in that and they’re going to be goo before they clear atmosphere, and probably radioactive to boot. And it’s too… different. Design wise. For crying out loud, the biggest argument in building the Normandy was where to put the command room. Call it convergent evolution, call it Prothean design but all the Council races build ships that are _practically_ equivalent give or take a few cosmetic details. You’d need something that thinks different to shake that kind of foundation.” 

Despite the tone, Nihlus thinks he raises some fair points. He clicks his mandibles thoughtfully, almost surprised when Shepard notices and glances over at him, as if inviting him to join the conversation. 

“I’m not disagreeing,” Shepard says mildly. “Can you run it through the database, see if you can find any matches or further intel? Keep it quiet, though, this whole situation has the air of a FUBAR mission about it.” 

The pilot nods. “Yeah, sure. As if I don’t have enough to do,” he drawls. “Commander.” 

Shepard doesn’t take offence. Perhaps she knows the pilot previously, allowing him leeway, or perhaps his competence grants him it. It wouldn’t in the Hierarchy — it hadn’t allowed Nihlus any — but humans are _slightly_ more flexible. 

“Geth haven’t been seen outside the veil in nearly two hundred years,” he notes, as he follows Shepard to the hanger bay. She pulls a hardsuit out of a locker and begins to suit up immediately. Her N7 colours match his own black and red nicely. 

“Might be Geth,” Shepard says, “might be something _like_ Geth. Might be something completely unlike them but not like _us._ I don’t want to make guesses; I want to gather information.” 

Curiously, once she’s suited up, she begins going through the ship armoury until she finds another item that isn’t part of her routine kit. 

A Kuwashii Visor. The kind most commonly worn by Citadel Security Services. 

Shepard hooks it up to her omnitool and even from the wrong side he can see the ‘recording’ icon blinking on, and then off again as she tests it. 

“A… curious choice for a black ops mission,” he says, as mild and curious as possible. Alliance classified information security is their own issue, not his. 

Shepard’s face changes, lips tilting to the side in a particularly human expression. “Yeah,” she says, sounding wry. “Well, once I got off Akuze, no one believed there had been Thresher Maws. And by the time my backup went to investigate all the bodies had mysteriously vanished. If we’re about to fight an enemy that no one has seen in two hundred years… I want some hard evidence to back me up.” 

She sounds blasé for talking about a military coverup. Nihlus can’t say he’s particularly surprised by it, though what anyone gains from covering up _Thresher Maws_ is beyond him. Whatever internal military politics were at play will hardly be divined by a second hand account years later. 

If the recording comes in handy, it will be a sign of good forward thinking. Though whether it suits a Spectre… the council would much prefer they _not_ record their missions. 

Nihlus hums. It’s too low in pitch for human hearing, though Shepard glances at him in acknowledgement again. 

Normally, at this point he would split off from the other marines to travel solo. He’s a capable operative and will move faster alone — he can employ more Spectre… leeway if there are no witnesses — but he will not travel faster on foot than an infantry vehicle so the point is moot. 

He slides into the mako with the rest of the ground team. Shepard has already claimed the driver’s seat, so he claims second position at the guns. The controls are different to that of a turian mobile unit, but not so different that he won’t manage. 

Shepard gives him a long look, assessing, but doesn’t protest his placement. 

“Alright,” Shepard says as the hanger door opens and drops them out into the open sky. She hits the grav thrusters with careless unconcern that belies the difficulty of the maneuver they’re performing. “Let’s get this show on the road.” 


End file.
